Home away from Home
by Lohis
Summary: What if Momonga wasn't the only Ainz Ooal Gown guild member who had made it into the New World? ANIMEverse, slight AU. Contains OC.
1. Chapter 1

_**Something I ended up writing anyway. Please tell me what you think.  
Rating: T**_  
 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except my OC  
Note: Based on the anime and whatever knowledge I have found via Overlord wiki etc.**_

* * *

 **-o0o-**

 **Home away from Home**

 **-o0o-**

 _Darkness_.

That was the last thing she could remember.

The magnificent view before the angeloid slowly succumbing to eternal blackness as the shutdown of the server closed in, the seconds ticking away. The artificial night sky stretching above the mountain peak and the enormous full moon, all the twinkling stars and the few light-grey cloud puffs losing their colours and edges and shine as the YGGDRASIL game world inevitably came to its end.

It didn't feel right. The game being ended like this after such a long servitude. Twelve years of adventuring and foraging, completing quests and clearing dungeons, building the guild base, protecting it, giving life to creatures in it, talking and laughing and crying with the other guild members.

The woman sighed heavily. The scenery was fading out.

It wasn't right how the others had just ended playing. How they had just given up on such a large piece of life, their _shared_ life. The last day in YGGDRASIL had been one down memory lane for the lady. She vented another sigh.

Darkness everywhere.

 _Nothingness_.

 **-o0o-**

A strong gust of wind blew past.

 _Huh?_

She blinked. Before her lay a calm turquoise-blue bay, where a few fishing boats were pulling up nets cast into the water. On the shore of the cove, behind the white sand beach, lay a row of houses. Behind them, she could see cottages dotting the grassy shallow hillside; above the scene clear skies and a bright sun.

 _What..?_ She thought furrowing, the grasp of her hand instinctively tightening around her combat spear. _Didn't the server shut down?_

Another breeze sent strands of her loosely tied coppery hair swaying. She brushed a tress from her suntanned face behind her ear, senses sharply studying the unknown surroundings.

What in the name of Nazarick had happened? Where had the grand mountains disappeared to? The temple ruins? The great swamplands far below?

The angel-warrior tried to open her console, poking the air in front of her with her free hand. Nothing. Glancing around to make sure the small clearing was secure, (the trees actually providing quite adequate visual protection) she proceeded to try to contact the administrators about the strange system bug, to no avail.

"None of the communication methods are working," she mumbled out to herself.

Tapping the ground with her boot, as if to make sure it actually was there, she kicked a small pebble into the water. It entered with a small _splosh_ , the sound immediately drowning under the splashing of the waves and the swishing of the aspen leaves. The smell of the budding, blooming nature around her was intoxicating.

… _Smell?!_

Still highly confused, the angeloid glanced over her shoulder and looked at the two sets of white wings at her back. Blinking, she slowly flexed them open, surprised of the mere _feel_ of them, and flapped once strongly. She rose a good four feet with ease and swayed gently down to the ground fascinated by the sensations the air current created in her feathers, her nerves tingling.

 _This is… real?_

The angeloid bent one wing forward and ran her fingers through it. The feathers were soft to the touch. It tickled. _I can feel them?_

Carefully she wound her fingers around one and plucked it off sharply. The tip of the wing jerked slightly. The feeling was unpleasant, bordering painful, like someone would have pinched your skin or pulled off a strand of hair. Twirling the feather between her thumb and forefinger she brought it to her cheek, savouring the smooth, warm feeling of it and the calming mild fragrance of lilacs and cool arctic air.

 _This has to be real_ , the woman thought, inhaling deeply, _and not another game. You just can't program scents. One can always think they're smelling something accordance to the scenery where they're playing, but aroma is just too complex to code. The chemical bonds, the…_

Another inhale. _Do feathers really smell this good? I thought they'd be stuffy or more animal like._ A content smile smoothed onto her lips. _Such pleasurable- FOCUS!_

The angeloid snapped her eyes open, wondering when she had actually closed them in the first place. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts she tucked the feather into one of the small pouches she had on her belt. Who knew, it could be dangerous to just leave it lying around. Even in YGGDRASIL angel feathers had been wanted goods for charms and potions.

"The cautious seldom err."

Casting her eyes on the melee weapon in her grasp, she pursed her lips and gave the steel a studying swing. It felt the spear, she cut a nearby tree cleanly in two. _This works, so presumably other items I have with me work too…_

She looked up at the sky. _What is this place?_

"Are you an angel?"

The angeloid spun around, weapon raised to counterattack if needed. Her golden eyes focused on a small brown-haired and -eyed human girl among the trees, dressed in peasant clothes, chewing leaves which looked like wood sorrel.

The warrior-angel blinked. She remained silent and stoic, but lowered her battle stance to one less intimidating.

"Mommy says angels can grant wishes. Can you grant wishes?"

The copper-bronze haired woman looked around to confirm that the child was actually talking to her, and not to anybody else.

Munching some more sorrel-like plant, the girl continued, oblivious to the unanswered questions. "Why did you cut down that tree? Had it done something bad?"

 _I can understand her?_ The angeloid straightened her pose. "It was infested."

"The tree was sick?"

"Yes." _She can understand_ _me_ _?_

"Is the forest sick too?"

"No."

"Okay." The child stretched out her palm and presented three slightly crumbled leaves. "Want one?"

"No, thank you." The angel-warrior cleared her throat and lowered down a bit, putting a small fake smile on her lips. "Could you help me?"

The girl nodded vigorously, mouth full of leaves.

"What is this place?" The woman swirled her free hand around the clearing.

"A forest."

"I see. And that small town over there, on the other side of the bay?"

"My home."

 _Clearly_ , the angeloid thought, wanting to roll her eyes at the comment but refined to only think about it. "Ah, and what is the name of your home?" She said in a cheery tone.

"Home." The girl pulled a small stained cloth from her pocket. Folding it open she grabbed another punch of herbs to nibble on.

"How about the name of this pool of water?"

"You mean the sea?"

"Yes, what is its name?" The woman asked, smile still plastered on her face.

"I don't know."

Not wanting to deem this conversation a complete waste of time, the angel-warrior decided on the last possible course of action. If the girl really wanted to play, she'd play.

"You know, you're a very brave and a very wise child. In exchange for a cloak and a few items, I'd like to grant your wish."

For the first time the girl seemed to fully concentrate on the conversation. She stopped her eating and just looked at the winged woman in front of her with huge, brown eyes. The child opened her little mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. She gaped a few times more before slowly lifting her thumb to her lips and sucking it silently.

The angeloid remained patient.

After what felt like an eternity, though in reality having been the duration of only three splashes of waves, the peasant child took her thumb out of her mouth and said with a confident, firm voice: "Mommy says not to make deals with strangers."

 _Well, that was it, then_ , the angeloid thought straightening to full height. "Thank you for this chat, young one, I bid you good day." She bowed gently and started to walk past the girl and into the woods, eyes fixed on the town.

The girl watched the woman pass her before calling out. "But angels fly, don't you?"

 **-o0o-**

 _Darkness._

That was the first thing he noted. A pulsating darkness, slowly turning grey.

 _What…?_ He thought.

Among the lightening haze he could start to make out the silhouettes of pillars and flags.

 _Did they push back the server shutdown?_

Momonga felt like blinking, but found himself unable to do so. _What was going on?_ Before him was the Ainz Ooal Gown throne room, underneath him the throne itself, in his hand the golden guild staff.

"Is something wrong, Lord Momonga?"

He turned his head towards the voice. Only a few meters away, Albedo, the chief of the floor guardians, was bowing before him, face lifted up in query. Behind her, the undead could see the worried looks of the Pleiades battle maids and the head butler, Sebas Tian.

"Lord Momonga? Is everything alright?" The raven black –haired woman sounded worried and she rose to her feet, closing in on him. "Lord Momonga?!"

The mage let his jaw drop open. _Eh?! What is going on?!_

 **-o0o-**

She had been wise _not_ to fly.

There had been not a single cloud on the sky and the number of birds had been below ten. The visibility had been better than in any parts of the YGGDRASIL, clearer and more real. The angeloid would have stuck out like a human in the Great Tomb of Nazarick.

She had been observing the quiet village from the edge of the grove, using her skills as a rogue to hide in the shade of the foliage. During the passage of the day she had noticed fishermen and farmers traversing the cobblestoned path in between the first row of houses and the sandy beach. One of the houses acted as a shop, clearly, and the amount of laundry drying on the clothesline meant the surrounding buildings were residences. The building closest to the two-forked pier buzzed with life; a tavern undoubtedly.

What puzzled the lady was the lack of _other_ species. Sure there were human settlements all over YGGDRASIL where the sight of a slime or a beastman was scarce, but even in a place like _that_ a traveling heteromorphic or a demi-human would've passed by at least once a day, or been seen on the moors or walking on the main dirt roads.

Perhaps in this unknown land there were no other races. A most terrifying and distressing thought. And even a wiser reason not to take to the skies.

 _I must blend in_ , the copper-bronze haired woman thought, kneeling behind a sturdy tree trunk, eyes following a hay cart heading lazily to town along the path running by the forest. _And gather as much knowledge as I can of this place._

Ducked low, she dashed towards the wooden wagon and sliding and rolling around -wings protecting her as she spun on the dirt road and then tucked neatly out of the way against her back- she latched herself to the underside of the cart. Digging her fingers and nails into the main wooden support beam, the angeloid flattened her body against the wood, legs clasped around the structural timber as well as they could be. Her spear was in its strap partly hidden under her feathers, tightly secured.

The middle-aged farmer steering the one horsed cart noticed nothing. He continued his way and soon the crunching of the wheels on the dirt switched to steady clacking on the cobblestone. The angel-warrior could hear the man mumbling about the boat being late again, and seeing her opportunity she let go. Turning mid-air she landed on her palms and toes face-down and as soon as the cart had rolled off of her she twisted to her feet and darted into the cover of a nearby alley.

It was a tight space, only about one-and-a-half feet wide but ran for the entire length of its adjacent buildings; the tavern and what looked like a small-sized warehouse. The angeloid sneaked in the shadows of the alleyway avoiding a few empty bottles, a sleeping drunkard and a dozen of small puddles. The stench was formidable.

Diagonally from the tavern, behind the storehouse, was the woman's target.

Peeking through the small gaps in the planking of the tall fence surrounding the two-storey residence, the warrior deemed the yard empty and she could detect no one in the windows or the porch. Jumping like a feline she grabbed hold of the side of the fence and flipped herself over the edge. Landing silently on her feet se dodged to the cover of a largish flower bush, fighting back a sneeze as she brushed against one of the twelve-petal blooms.

Still an empty yard. Only the wind shuffled the clothes drying in the sunlight.

Three steps in, an inaudible snap and three steps back. Over the fence again and into the shadows of the alley.

Kneeling down behind a pile of crates, the lady halted and listened. She could hear talking from the tavern as well as some laughter, there were distant huffs and grunts coming from the direction of the pier and a steady snoring from the drunkard some ways down the alley from her hiding spot. Deeming it relatively safe, the angeloid took off her war spear and its strap, and quickly donned on the loose, white long-sleeved shirt (first having made tears in the back to let her wings through), leaving under it the lightweight shagreen leather corselet she had been wearing in YGGDRASIL.

Yes, stealing wasn't the best start to a life in an unknown world, but this time, it was necessary.

 _I shouldn't have left my better equipment in HQ_ , she criticized her previous actions as she put the spear holder back on and the spear in it. _But they aren't as comfortable as these…_

Throwing on the still-damp cloak to hide her folded wings and most of the melee weapon, she secured her small pouched belt on her hip, checking through the pockets that what she had put in back when the server had still been operational was, in fact, there.

Since no pants or such had been on the clothesline, the angeloid had to bear with the shagreen leather pants and knee-high boots.

Loosely braiding her long hair, she threw on the hood, the braid dangling down over her right shoulder.

 _There is a chance_ , she noted narrowing her eyes as she started down another strip of alleyway, _that I'm not the only player having ended up here._

Dodging a stray cat hissing at her, having undoubtedly interrupted its lunch, the warrior-angel flattened against the shadowed wall of the tavern. _There's strength in numbers._

"So, will that be all?" She heard a man say.

"Yeah, for this month at least." Another man, older by the sound, sighed. "Tell that leech of a tavern master in Re-Lovell that if he doesn't cheapen the prices no occasional traveller stumbling into this seaside shack of a village will have the money to pay for the night. And that just breaks an honest Innkeeper's heart."

The first man spluttered out a laughter. "You're a real god's envoy, Harold. Why don't you just let them stay for less, then?"

"And pay the taxes from my _own_ pocket? Get going, you slacker, or my gracious attitude towards _your_ room fee is gonna have a sudden and permanent augmentation!"

"Yeah yeah, I hear ye." From the shadows the angeloid could see the younger of the men climb onto the fully loaded wagon and sat down behind the reels.

"And make sure not to break the cargo!" The one called Harold growled and slapped the dapple grey mare to the upper thigh. The horse neighed at this.

Another set of yeah's and the man ushered the horse forward, clicking his tongue. The wheels clanged against the stone road and the crates on the cart rattled slightly at the jolt of the movement.

"And no stoppin' at the Fairies' Inn!"

"Yeah yeah…!"

The tavern's door creaked open and shut with a thud. The lady watched as the wagon passed the alley mouth she was in. Glancing quickly around, she dropped low and took a few running steps after the vehicle. Stretching and sliding she was once again under a wagon, hitching a ride. At least this wagon had metal reinforcements she could swung her legs and arms over and just 'hang on'.

It wasn't the most comfortable way to travel, she knew, but paramount for her survival. She could start moving more freely when she was in a place more visited by travellers.

As the cart with the full cargo (and one stowaway), the horse pulling it and the coacher urging the horse forwards put distance between the shoreline town, making decent track climbing the hillside, the angel-warrior watched the scene grow smaller and smaller. She had already wasted too much time there. She needed more information and more flexibility. But most of all, she needed to find an ally.

A _friend_.

* * *

 _ **Reviews are welcomed and appreciated!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_I hope you enjoy!  
_** _ **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except my OC  
**_ _ **Rating: T**_

* * *

The skeletal guild leader leaned against his bony fingers, his pupil-like shining red dots studying the papers on his work desk with great interest. Sebas, the head butler of Nazarick, had brought the overlord the preliminary reports from the floor guardians regarding the state of their assigned levels. Apparently the transportation to this unknown land hadn't caused any visible damage to or in the Tomb.

 _The heightened security measures and the upgrading of the communications network are also advancing well._ He noted. _And the Tomb is quite self-sustaining. There is no cause for worry._

Momonga leaned back in his chair.

Some four hours ago, he had stood as the supreme leader in front of the NPC guardians. They had vowed their loyalty, quite passionately and Momonga hadn't had a choice but to act along.

Acting was truly taxing. The overlord let out an exhausted, sad sigh.

Before the meeting, the dark elf twins, the floor guardians of the sixth floor Aura and Mare, had engaged the Primal Fire Elemental he had summoned in a head-on battle. It had been more of a workout to them than a proper fight, but it had offered the undead lord great understanding of the strange, _real-life_ world he had been thrown into.

He put down the reports and tapped the armrest thoughtfully. _So, magic works here_ , the undead mage pondered, _and the NPCs move of their own free will, but following the personalities inputted in them. They have their own quirks, but are unconditionally loyal to me._

 _Interesting._

He couldn't say he _felt_ fascinated, or afraid or excited or confused or tired or _anything_ , since literal feeling was beyond undead skeletons, but his rational mind reminded him that in a situation like this those all would have been the main emotions whirling within him.

Yet, this was all just so strange. Like a dream where his favourite game became reality. It could be that at any moment now his boss would be calling him and he would wake up to the ringing and forget everything that happened in the "dream" and the boss would be asking where he was and if he really wanted to get kicked out and he would rush out of bed and beg to keep his work.

That was, if this was a dream. And a dream one _could_ wake up from.

Or perhaps it was a hallucination made up by his tired, burnt-out mind.

Or he was going crazy.

Or maybe he had really been transported into a new world via YGGDRASIL and got turned into the character he had been playing as.

Or someone was playing a very bad joke on him.

Or who knows _what_ was happening!

Momonga shook his head and focused on the papers in front of him. _Regardless_ , he reasoned _, I have to do what I have to do. Only time will tell the truth._

 **-o0o-**

Her legs were numb and her arms were hurting. Her wings were aching to be stretched wide and the tension in her back muscles made her head thump in pain.

It had already gotten past late-afternoon, the sky aflame with hues of red and orange. The cart had made good time, or so it felt to the angeloid, as they had passed away from the open hilly grasslands dotting the sea-line and past an endless field of golden grain. Currently they were traversing along a snaking coarse dirt road, the gravel crunching and moaning below the hoofs and wheels and the sound of the crickets hiding in the overgrown roadside grass adding to the deafening concerto.

All this noise didn't help the stowaway's headache.

 _Come thick woods, I'm gone._ She thought gritting her teeth.

Bending her head back, she looked at the upside down scenery ahead. Another mile or two before they would reach the forest edge. If that even was their heading.

 _If not,_ she concluded, _any tall grass and the night's embrace will do. Or bushes. Bushes are good._

The cart teetered on. The crickets kept chirping.

It wasn't until dark-greyish clouds crept over the brightly twinkling stars that the driver stopped the wagon. Jolly laughter and chattering voices flooded through the open windows and the constantly swinging doors. Even outside the reek of alcohol was nauseating. Brightly burning torches cast shadows on the ground.

A few pairs of boots strolled casually around the cart and the horse and suddenly the man behind the reels jumped down from his seat with a chuckle and threw the reins to a young lad.

"Make sure the old lady doesn't clop away," the driver said and joined in on the hollering at a joke one of the boot-men had shot out.

"Yes, sir." Came a reply and the mare and the cart were moved aside, behind the tavern most likely.

The angeloid kept a steady gaze on the only pair of boots near the wooden cart as the dirt road changed to a muddy patch of ground, near what apparently worked as a stable, if the neighing and spluttering was anything to go by.

She could hear the voice from earlier cosset the old mare, gaining a joyous neigh as an answer. The boy smooth-worded the horse some more, before slipping a piece of carrot to it from his pocket. He went around and loosened the fastenings to the wagon, lowering the cart to rest on its own. He led the horse to a fenced patch of grass.

"Be a good girl and stay here, 'kay? I need to get back inside or it's the belt for me." The boy patted the grey chub. "I try to sneak a treat to you later."

A happy, tired neigh.

The woman watched as the boy scurried to the back door, the yard being illuminated for just a few seconds before the door was closed and shadowy darkness fell again.

Waiting only half a heartbeat, the warrior-angel climbed off of the wooden contraption mindful of the muddy ground. Regardless, she managed to smear the back of her cloak in it. Scoffing she brushed the worst of it off and wrapped the fabric tighter around her body.

She walked to the front acting as if having come from the forest path and stepped in. The sign with strange symbols and a small winged woman above the entrance clattered in the wind.

At the doorstep she fought the urge to regurgitate. The sweat and the smoke and the reek of alcoholic beverages and dried up blood and who-knows-what slammed into the angeloid's nostrils like a thousand rams.

 _Goodness gracious!_ She gagged and moved her palm to protect her face.

The traveller stayed close to the walls, zigzagging past sprawled out feet and avoiding puddles of something she really didn't want to know. Surviving to the bar counter, she grasped it for support. Leaning against it the woman inhaled deeply. Somehow, the stench wasn't as bad here.

"What can I get you?" A male voice asked.

"Fresh air?"

"Down the path you came, if you can make it, that is." The bartender laughed and set the stein he was swiping clean down. "What can I get you, lassie?"

"Just some directions, please. Do you have a map, perchance?"

"Perchance? Of course we do. First time in these parts?"

"First time on firm land, actually."

"Sea crab? You don't look it, miss. I would've put my money on a greenhorn adventurer."

The publican disappeared into the side room. _So, they have adventures here? Good to know._ The angeloid rested her elbow on the counter. A fellow traveller, swaying on his feet closed in on her, winked and offered his half-drunk beer. The woman shook her head no. Flattening to the desk she let the boozer wobble by, his mind focused on another female already. On the main section, where most of the tables were, a heated argument was brewing.

"Cheater!"

"Nah, you're just a sore loser."

"Swindler! THIEF!" The wrought-up man flipped the table over, coins and cards scattering to the floor, forcing the other gamer on his feet. Nearby people lunged for the free money.

"Oi!"

"Give me back my money!" The angry customer launched a hard right hook at the accused crook. The man dodged it delivering a jab to the other's abdomen. The starter struggled back landing on other customers and their drink-filled table.

"Don't try!" The accused man hollered, dropping into a battle stance. "I won fair and square!"

"Damn conman! C' here!" Another lunge at the so-called thief.

Around the two a ring had gathered, cheering and booing and yelling all at the same time. "Punch him in the face!" "Show that loser who's in charge!" "Break his jaw! Break his jaw!" The two half-wrestled, half-catfought, pulling each other's hair and ears and biffing noses and ribs, kicking the best they could in the wrangled mess they were.

 _Really now?_ The angeloid sighed and rolled her eyes watching as the brawl drawled on, pulling others into it too. _Men_.

Empty pints flew in the air, shattered bottles were swung above messy heads and people were constantly tripping over broken chairs. By the entrance someone was thrown through the front window. A lone boot was hanging from the rusty, half-lit chandelier.

 _I wonder what's taking that bartender so long…_

Suddenly a body was flung over the bar desk. Due to the impact the people at the counter pushed each other like dominoes. Drinks toppled over and annoyed grunts and growls followed. The persons standing next to the female slipped on a patch of spilled beer, and after an impressive set of dance moves they landed with their full weights straight on top of her.

The angel-in-hiding groaned and shoved the flesh piles off, smacking them against a support pillar that cracked forebodingly.

Scrambling to her feet she dodged a punch meant for someone else, snatched a coin pouch from an unsuspecting brawler's belt and crawled by the side of the wall glass shards and wood splinters and blood flying everywhere.

 _I don't remember the tavern life being like this in YGGDRASIL._ She dodged a thrown knife. _Where is that blasted publican?!_ Pulling the rogue blade off the panelling she tucked it under the hem of her corselet (who could say no to a free weapon?) eyes skimming the rag-tag fighting.

 _Bingo!_

The bartender from earlier was neck-deep in a fistfight with two heavily intoxicated good-for-nothings. He overpowered them easily and moved on to the next set of troublemakers bashing each other with anything they could reach. The map was on the front pocket of his apron.

 _Mine_.

As she got up, a hand grabbed her cloak from behind the fabric releasing a short ripping sound, the action jerking down her hood and tightening the fastening around her throat. With a balanced backwards kick she hit whoever the moron was directly in the groin. An agonized, high-pitched cry followed the move.

Body-slamming anyone in her path she made her way to her target. Dropping low to a crouch to avoid the bartender's left hook (since he had already resorted to KO'ing all in the pub to get order) the angeloid swiftly nabbed the rolled parchment and about-faced on her toes and sprinted hunched towards the exit of the establishment. Jumping over the limbs and torsos of bruised and bleeding, already-out-cold customers she took elevation off of a doubled-over man and somersaulted elegantly out of the broken front window and landed onto the yard.

Straightening the spear on her back, she brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear and started down the road leading to the forest, tucking the prizes of the battle in her belt pouches.

That was something she wouldn't want to experience again.

Well, _immediately_ again.

 **-o0o-**

The Overlord's eyeless gaze stared into the emptiness of the throne room. The space was well decorated, he didn't mean that, but it was just… hollow. The chandeliers and the flags and the dark onyx slabs; they were all … inanimate, _empty_.

 _Once_ , Momonga reminisced, _all 41 members of the Ainz Ooal Gown had been present, under their respective flags._ Nostalgia took over.

They had celebrated something, something great but the guild leader couldn't bring it to his mind what that _great_ had been. The completion of the Tomb? Or the successful thwarting of the over 1,500 headed armada? Perhaps they had celebrated both. He couldn't remember the occasion, but the sight had been one to behold, the _feeling_ , the _atmosphere_ incomprehensible by those not there.

The jubilee had lasted long. They had deserved it.

It would've been a lie to say he didn't miss those times. But those days were long past. _All_ of those days. _All_ _gone_.

It had agitated him, _stung_ his very core, made him lament and grieve and weep deep within every _single_ time one of his allies, one of his _friends,_ had announced quitting the game. They had said that he could do whatever he wanted with their equipment, their items, their rooms. He could sell them or fuse them, refurnish, destroy or do _anything_. It didn't matter to them.

But it had mattered to _him_.

It still did.

Yet it had been wrong of him to think the others had abandoned - _betrayed_ \- him and the guild. The other Ainz Ooal Gown members had made the choice themselves. And, apparently, _sadly_ , The Great Tomb of Nazarick wasn't what they had chosen in the end, or what fate had decided for them.

 _Fate…?_

The Overlord clenched his skeletal fingers around the armrest.

Momonga didn't believe in such things. He hadn't in the real life, _his life_ , and he hadn't in YGGDRASIL. The encounter with Touch Me had been pure luck, a coincidence. And things after that; sweat and blood. No divine guidance or personal futures written in a grand book at the beginning of time. All hard work, all trial and error.

The past was the past, unchangeable by the present and the future was for everyone to choose for themselves.

 _Choice…_ Momonga's eyes dimmed, _perhaps_ _here, those times, those days, could become everyday again. New discoveries, new people, a whole new world to explore. Possibilities not programmed in artificial realities. Chances._ _ **Freewill**_ _._

 _I shouldn't dwell on what once was._ He scolded himself, shaking his head. _I have to focus on the here and now. The NPCs and the safety and future of Nazarick. As their supreme leader, I have a duty._

A duty…?

He mused as it all dawned on him in a second, a deep low chuckle rising from within his skeleton chest, _perhaps_ _ **this**_ _is what destiny dictated to_ _ **me**_ _, what life_ _ **I**_ _was meant to lead._

 _Yes_ , maybe here he could learn to believe in fate and destiny. And who knows, maybe it was destiny that brought him here.

Unless, of course, all of this was just a dream.

* * *

 _ **Reviews are welcomed and appreciated!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Hope you like!  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except my OC  
Rating: T_**

* * *

 _She walked deeper into the shaded woods. The moon wasn't completely full, but it shed enough light to see the path. The clouds from earlier had dissipated and the sky was clear. The stars twinkled in between the branches and leaves._

 _The wind brought voices as the path rounded a large rock formation, bright light illuminating the nearby trees and casting long, flickering shadows._

 _In front of the angeloid was a covered wagon, on which side stood four thug-like men with torches and swords, grouped around a slender, dark haired man. She stopped as the others noticed her presence._

 _The head of the gang let out a flirty, carnal whistle._

" _Well, hello there, poppet!"_

 **-o0o-**

Bright. Warm. The rising morning sun was truly a sight to behold. The rays stretched over the rolling grasslands, making the dew drops glister like sprawled out diamonds.

The woman stretched her neck and shoulders. Muscle tension wasn't the nicest of feelings and the angeloid tried her best to prevent the tension from turning into a deep jam. Those _hurt_. She rested back against the wagon seat, her spear leaning casually against the crook of her elbow and chest. She could feel a small itch creep its way up her spine, but she resisted the urge to fidget.

"Well, miss." The driver-man started, breaking the sound of the steady hoof steps with his smooth voice. "What's your story?" He urged the horse onward.

"Mr. Brandan, I find it impolite for a stranger to pry into my past without first telling me his."

"Yes, I believe that to hold true," the man chuckled, scratching the bridge of his nose abashed.

He cleared his throat. "As you can see, I'm a travelling merchant, trading in quite the rare goods actually. I'm originally from the Roble Holy Kingdom, from a decent sized town full of merchants. My parents were traders too and I picked the profession from them.

"I chose the life of a traveller because I like to follow the wind. And you get better money selling exotic goods. So it's all about the money. And the adventure. And the new people I get to meet. And the stories. But mostly the money."

The coppery haired lady tilted her head at this, only briefly glancing at the man before returning her gaze to the beautiful scenery ahead of them brought to life by the dawning sun. "I see. Sounds like a dangerous job. But since your trade seems to have a decent income and the goods have demand, why don't you hire bodyguards?"

Brandan chuckled.

"Deception. If there are many guards bandits will think I'm carrying something highly precious. But if I travel alone, I get to pass mainly unnoticed or they think my wagon is unworthy of robbing. In the few cases I have been ambushed, I have begged for them to spare my life and the rest of my goods in exchange for the 'valuables'."

"Ah," the warrior exhaled. "And these 'valuables' were in fact the cheapest trinkets in the crates?"

"You catch on quickly."

The merchant stretched his hand back into the cart and pulled out what looked like a well-worn wineskin. Brandan wrenched the cork off and drunk eagerly. Belching slightly (and apologizing for it) he offered it to the spear lady.

She shook her head.

The man nodded at this and threw the skin over his shoulder recklessly. ""So, miss, your tale?"

"It's a long one."

"There's still ways until we reach our destination. We got the time."

She nodded again.

 **-o0o-**

" _What's a pretty, little lassie like ye doing alone in such a dark and scary place?" The man, over two meters tall, who towered over his comrades and the man he was threatening walked towards the angeloid and bent his upper body, dropping eye-level with the coppery haired woman._

" _Want us to escort you home? Maybe hold your hand, eh? Lend a strong, sturdy shoulder, hm?"_

 _A fit of snickers erupted from his companions._

" _Leave her out of this," the slender man muttered out._

" _Hm? The merchant boy trying to be a hero?" The leader barked a laughter, turning to look at the man. "Stay silent and maybe we'll let you keep the wagon and the horse. And your life."_

 _He returned his attention to the woman. "So, what's it gonna be, flower? But just so that you know, for protection, we just have to take a fee."_

 _She rolled her eyes under the shadow of her hood. "No, thank you. I'm fine by myself. Pardon me, sir." She said silver-tongued, sidestepped past the mercenary and started walking._

" _Now now! I haven't finished talking to you!" He growled and grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her back. Spinning her around, he pulled her against his chest and draped his strong muscular arms around and across her lower back. "It's mean to turn your back to the person talking to you. It seems we have to teach you a lesson in courtesy, missy."_

 _The angeloid blinked slowly and sighed._ _ **Men**_ _._

 **-o0o-**

The woman was silent, pondering the best course of action, eyes glued forward. To the man beside her though, it seemed she was only having trouble on where to start her story.

 _My past…? I have to lie, again._ The angeloid thought, an image of the small peasant girl from yesterday flashing in her mind. _It has to be something that he doesn't want to dwell into too deep, something to make him uncomfortable. Something… emotional and difficult to verify yet plausible. Something… Something…-_

"Fair enough." She finally said, shifting slightly on her seat. "You trusted me with the knowledge of your past and true merchandise, so I feel obliged to even out the scales. And father always said to be kind to those being kind to you.

"This is actually my first proper day on main land. I have lived my whole life on a small island with mama and papa and auntie Mie. She wasn't my real aunt, but a friend of my mother's who lived on the main land. She came to visit every now and then and when mama and papa passed away she moved to our island and looked after me. And uh… A few days ago she… she went away too."

The woman bit her lip.

"I… took the boat she had used to visit us and came to shore. I just couldn't be there anymore. Not alone."

A cloud passed the sun, darkening the grasslands around them for a brief moment. Some bees buzzed in the red and white clovers by the road. The black horse pulling the cart swatted away a fly with its tail.

"I'm sorry for your loss." The man mumbled and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "And I'm sorry to have opened such painful wounds."

"Don't be, Mr. Brandan. That's life."

The man furrowed. "What a cynical opinion." Then his face lit up. "Yet optimistic."

The angel-in-hiding gave a small smile to the comment, eyes shining. The two travelled in silence for only a few moments, before Mr. Brandan broke it again, face turning grim as his eyes skimmed the roadsides ahead of them.

"We should be on our guard. Even though it's breaking daytime, this part of the road is still dangerous."

"Are you saying there are more people like those from the forest here?" There was great puzzlement in the woman's voice. In the distance, cliffs rose against the steady scenery, contrasting the smoothness with their jagged form.

The merchant gave her an apologizing small smile and breathed out a weak laughter: "I can see that it's your first time in the real, wide world."

 **-o0o-**

 _The tall bandit purred low in his chest, two of his companions taking a few steps closer. The fourth of the thugs, standing by the horse cart, placed his fingers around the handle of his sword and kept a steady gaze on the dark-haired merchant in case he got the crazy idea to scram with their unclaimed loot._

 _The rogue leader stroke his thumb down the side of the angeloid's cheek, brushing against a strand of loose hair as he went. "C'mon, don't be shy, doll. Show me those pretty little eyes." He grabbed her from the chin and twisted her head up._

" _Please unhand me," she stated calmly, her golden eyes reflecting an unimpressed look. "Now, if you could."_

" _Why?" Came a crude, cold answer._

" _I do not like strangers being this close to me. And you smell."_

 _Anger flashed in the man's eyes. "Mind your tongue, BUNNY!" He growled, tightening his hold on her chin to a painful grip and stretching the angeloid's neck to an excruciating angle._

' _That's it, I'm not your cuddly little hare…!' She thought and, wriggling her right arm free, punched him square in the side of his face._

 _A nauseating crack followed and the mercenary was sent flying at his comrades. The two were fast enough to catch him, looks shining bewilderment at how such a petite woman had sent their intimidating boss hurling like a ragdoll. One of the rogues grabbed the leader's shoulder and tried to shake him out of it. The tall man's head only lolled sluggishly back and forth blood pouring out of his nose and mouth._

 _Suddenly the night forest had turned eerily quiet. Quiet and cold._

" _He… He's dead…!" The other one uttered, struggling with his words and the concept behind them. Letting go of the blood-smeared body, he stumbled backwards. "She killed him in one blow!"_

" _Daniels doesn't fall from a single bitch's slap!" The first one argued heatedly, trying his best to get their boss (named Daniels apparently, the angeloid noted) awake and about. "He… He can't! Dammit, get up, Dan! GET UP!"_

 _The body remained immobile, the blood slowly turning dark and clogging onto the skin and clothes._

' _Wow.' The woman blinked, first looking at the body and then glancing at her flexing fingers. 'So easily. I mean, I only slapped him gently.' Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the dark-haired merchant looking at her with a mix of shock and relief._

" _Let it be, Ralph! He's dead! Face smashed in!"_

 _The warrior angel looked back at the body and the mercenary hunched over it._

" _Oh, God." The thug (Ralph?) finally let go of the still warm corpse and schlepped backwards closer to his breathing comrade with his hands and knees. "It… This can't be happening… H-how…?"_

 _The third one, standing by the wagon, took a threatening step forward and unsheathed his sword. "Who the devil are you, lady?" He growled, weapon lifted to a battle stance. "No,_ _ **what**_ _are you?"_

 _The woman switched her gaze between the serious bandit and the two who had followed cue and drawn out their weapons._

' _I need a snappy comment. Snappy comment! C'mon, think!' The coppery-bronze haired lady thought, wings shuffling restlessly in their folded position against her back. 'Scare them off. It's your only chance to get out of this without further fighting.'_

" _Your doom." The merchant, having been quiet for a long while, said suddenly and sharply. All eyes turned to him._

 _The woman tilted her head minutely, blinking. 'A bit cliché, but does the trick,' she noted with a light scorn on her face, 'well, hopefully.'_

 _The three thugs exchanged looks, Ralph's sword hand shaking visibly. The level-headed one of the remaining group gritted his teeth, eyes skimming between the dark woods behind them and the innocent-looking girl, perplexed that she hadn't drawn out her spear yet. On the other hand, she had killed a full-grown man with a single punch._

" _Retreat,_ _now_ _." He finally barked._

" _Go ahead, I won't give chase." The angeloid hummed casually crossing her arms against her chest._

 _The serious, step-in-leader sent her a murderous glare. "This isn't the end. You'll pay." They dashed into the woods and vanished._

 **-o0o-**

A few trees shadowed the dirt road. Both of them were alert and studied their surroundings in great detail. Yet the heightened danger didn't silence Brandan the Trader.

"So, you spent your entire life on that small island?" He asked casually, clearing his throat a bit in mid-sentence.

"Yes."

"Then how did you learn to fight?" Clearly the question had bothered the merchant for some time.

The angeloid looked at the man as if the answer was as clear as the day around them. "My father taught me."

"But, I thought you said he died when you were young… I mean you're so good. How old were you when…?"

"Father put a stick sword in my hand as soon as I learned to walk." Her voice rang with proudness.

"I… see. And what did your mother think of that?"

She gave him a slightly puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Nevermind." Brandan waved his hand. It would be better to not trouble the naïve spear lady next to him. "So that spear. Family heirloom?"

A simple nod was the answer he was given. They continued their travel, a slightly forced silence hanging in the air between them. Suddenly the angeloid turned to face the man, scowling and mouth a thin line. Brandan arched an eyebrow at the woman's sudden change and waited for her to state her mind. The coppery-haired lady opened her mouth.

"How did you know I can fight?"

The merchant blinked slowly. He probably felt close to the same way the lady had felt only moments earlier regarding the question voiced. It was only now that her naivety really sank in. Before she had just seemed to be an untactful, cynical and reclusive spear-wielder. Yet, the truth was quite the opposite. Brandan wasn't normally the kind to exploit gullibility, but the woman sitting on the cart next to him was making breaking that norm almost too easy. Easy and tempting.

He chuckled. "I kinda figured it out when you sent that trash flying like a sack of potatoes."

The woman tilted her head questioningly.

"That bandit. When you punched him." Brandan explained. "And, of course, the spear helped too."

"Ah."

She seemed content of the newly-found enlightenment, until another shadow fell on her face. Brandan looked at her worried.

"What's wrong?" He was ready to halt the wagon and be of any assistance to his saviour as he could. It was curious, since he wasn't usually so easily and quickly won over. Perhaps the woman's simple naivety had struck a chord deep within him. A grim, concerned look plastered itself on his face as he watched the woman intently.

"Aren't potato sacks heavy?" She finally voiced.

Laughter erupted from Brandan's chest. He wheezily gasped for air and felt tears break from the corners of his eyes and slide down his cheeks. Yes, _highly_ gullible. But he couldn't hold it against her.

The terrain around them was slowly changing, a change they had already seen from afar, and high rocky cliffs rose to reach for the skies. The road began to lead them into a deep narrow gorge that wormed its way between the rocks. Brandan checked that none of the jutting rocks went far enough to claw at the wagon's sides.

"This is the only way through?" The angeloid asked concerned.

"Yes."

It was suddenly much gloomier; the sunlight didn't quite make it to the bottom of the gorge, leaving them in creeping, slow shadows.

The soft scraping sound from above was the only warning they got. The angeloid cursed herself immediately for not noticing them earlier. Masked, armed men jumped down from the shadowed ledges of the gorge and landed in front of them; some cutting the road ahead, some blocking their path back.

The woman moved swiftly, as quickly as a spring breeze one could say, unsheathing her spear with a single fluid movement, whirling it around so the head was steadily aimed towards the men in front of her. Brandan's horse stopped with a distressed splutter, throwing its head back in surprise and pulling at the reins. The merchant struggled to calm it down.

The angel hopped to the ground and turned so that her back was against the side of the cart. She threw a glance at the bandits behind the wagon, their eyes glinting greedily. Then she returned her gaze back ahead where one of the men had just stepped forward, and the angeloid didn't need more proof than one look to know this man was the leader of the punch.

"Good morning!" the man wished them pleasantly, flashing a wide smile, hand going to the edge of his hat. "My my, you have chosen a tricky, dangerous road. An unwise choice, I'm afraid. _Anything_ could be lurking in these corners."

Some of the men chuckled at the thinly veiled taunt. _How unoriginal._ The angeloid resisted the urge to roll her eyes and kept the spear at level and steady.

But the situation was not to be taken lightly. There were many of them – _nine_ , she counted quickly, _five in the front and four in the back_ – and they were all armed with various weapons. None of them were drawn yet, she noted, though there were many stilled, hungry movements that told of the energy bubbling just beneath the surface of the skin, tickling their muscles.

The bandit leader rested a gloved hand on his sheathed broadsword. The angeloid could see some jewels glittering on the hilt in the dim light of the gorge.

"What do you want?" Brandan asked tightly. The merchant was gripping the handle of his sword, his shoulders tense and lips pressed into a thin nervous line. Apparently, _clearly_ , fighting wasn't his forte.

"Just taking a look," the leader said calmingly, eyes drawn to the wagon for a moment. "You are a trader, no? We'd really appreciate the chance to browse through your merchandise. You see, we can't just walk to town if you catch my drift."

The angeloid narrowed her eyes, adjusting her grip on her spear. So far the cocky man seemed to be ignoring her. She did _not_ like that. What was he planning?

Brandan snorted, voice shaking. "I don't think you intend to leave us much choice."

The mercenary shrugged. "What can I say? It is so hard to find proper goods here in the wild." He turned his head and finally looked at the angel, or more accurately, at the spear held in her hands. "Though, I think," he drawled on, "I've seen you traverse this path before."

"I do some business in the capital, yes." The trader agreed, his emphasis on the word business.

The leader snorted amused. "Well, _our_ occupation puts us in the position to do business _here_. Speaking of which; that spear," he nodded towards the weapon in the woman's hands," it is well made. It ought to fetch a nice price. Hand it over and we'll bargain to leave the wagon alone."

 _I don't like these numbers._ The warrior angel thought, wincing inwardly. _If I only knew more about the strength differences. That punch in the forest could've been just a lucky one._

She opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Brandan cut her off: "She won't. You can't. No. Not for me. That spear, it belongs to your family."

 _Well, not really,_ she thought to herself. _But if that solves it…_

"Do you promise?" She finally said. The mercenary leader tilted his head. "Do you promise that you and your men leave Mr. Brandan, his wagon and me in peace if I give you my weapon?"

A lopsided grin formed on the bandit's scarred face. "Yes, yes, I promise."

"But Boss! You can't…! She's the one who killed Dan!" One of the men piped in.

Then angeloid looked at the thug in question. A familiar face. _Ralph, was it? So he was the reason of this ambush._ She wondered and narrowed her eyes. Making a quick glance of the rest of the men he recognized the other two from the previous night as well.

"Be silent or _I'll_ kill you." The bandit leader growled, grasping his sheathed blade threateningly before returning his attention to the warrior lady. "Well, miss? What's it gonna be?"

It wouldn't be wise to give up their main protection. But to take them all on would be plain foolish. Decisions, decisions. "Very well then," she finally said and dropped her stance slowly, presenting the so-called heirloom to the head thug.

"Clever choice." The man swirled the weapon in his hands and examined the minute details of it. The engraved feathers and thin, tastefully added silver and gold garnish and the plain sharpness and lightness of the spear. "Yes, this will do just nicely."

"Then leave."

The head mercenary didn't even glance at the trader, but whistled and motioned his head in sign of withdrawal. The bandits disappeared one by one, as quickly and silently as they had dropped down, in the end leaving their boss standing alone in the middle of the path.

"It was nice doing business with y'all," he chuckled, hand going to the rim of his hat once more, before he too, vanished into the small cracks of the gorge around them.

Brandan let out a shaky breath as his legs gave out, his body slumping to the wagon seat. "Thank you. I'm in your debt, for the second time." His gaze lowered. "I'm sorry about your family heirloom, it must've been important to you."

The woman climbed back onto the cart and sat down as well.

"Fret not over it, Mr. Brandan," she stated sighing. "Let us just get to the safety of the capital."

The merchant gave an apologizing, weak smile and clicked his tongue to urge the horse onward once more. The angeloid turned her gaze to the road as well, exhaling silently and mentally scolding herself. She should have been more vigilant, more alert. And she should've figured out the strength differences the first moment she got.

 _My own fault._ The angeloid thought remorsefully. _But I liked that spear...! It took me_ _ **weeks**_ _to collect the materials and to forge it…!_

The woman gritted her teeth. _MEN!_

Revenge would be sweet, she knew it would.

 **-o0o-**

 _In the forest, the sounds of the night started to echo again._

 _The angeloid dropped to one knee and inspected the now-late Daniels. Her so-called slap-punch had done quite horrid damage. Rummaging quickly through the man's pockets she deemed there was nothing of use there. Half rolling, half dragging the body away from the centre of the road, she unceremoniously kicked the body into the ditch, covering it with a few loose branches and fallen leaves._

 _Straightening up she turned and, to her surprise, noticed the dark-haired man standing by his wagon waiting._

" _Thank you, miss," he said when the woman was closer, "for saving me."_

" _You're welcome, sir."_

" _May I inquire your name, miss?" The merchant flashed a gentle smile._

" _It's –" She paused. I shouldn't give him my real name, she thought, for safety's sake. "It's Ava." She said, scratching her slightly itching back._

" _Well, miss Ava. You can call me Brandan. May I offer you a job?"_

* * *

 _ **Reviews are highly appreciated! Tell me if there are any mistakes and I'll fix them.**_


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